The Singer (18 page)

There was a whistle and they turned their heads toward Mala, who shot off a few signs.

Brooke smiled again. “Mala agrees. She said that throughout history, Irina have used the short staff as a primary weapon because we could take one everywhere. They’re very easy to overlook.”

“And very effective.”

“Yep.” Brooke went back to her ready stance. “Don’t worry! You’ll get the hang of it.”

Ava took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to remember to keep them loose. Ready. She was an Irina, after all. She’d get this. It was probably genetic or something. She lifted her staff in both hands and angled forward at her right shoulder like Mala had shown her. Brooke stood across from her in the same stance. Her face showed nothing. Ava shifted to the right, and Brooke leaned forward, just a little. Ava leaned with her right shoulder, deliberately hinting that she would strike from the right, only to have Brooke shift with lightning reflexes to the left, and then her staff circled down, hitting just below Ava’s left knee.

“Shit!” Ava hopped back, her previous plan of attack forgotten as the pain radiated down to her ankle and up her thigh. “Damn—
oww
! How did you—”

“Sorry, sorry! Your shoulders looked great, but then you did this thing with your leg and you shifted back, so I knew you were going to attack from the left, so I—”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it,” Ava groused, ignoring Mala, who was smiling wide and clutching her stomach. If the woman had been able to laugh, it would have filled the barn. “I know, all right? I’m completely transparent.”

“But your shoulders looked better!”
 

Great. A twelve-year-old was kicking her ass and trying to make her feel better about it.

“It’s fine, Brooke.” Ava glared at Mala. “Can we take a break now? I think I need to ice this leg.”

An unfamiliar voice sang from the door. “You’re never going to get better if you keep taking breaks.”

Ava turned to stare. The woman was tall and dark with olive skin and black hair that streamed down her back. Everything about her—from the black clothes to the wary expression—screamed “Danger!” Ava stepped in front of Brooke, but the girl shot out from behind her and rushed forward.

“Renata!”

“
Ciao, bella mia
,” the woman named Renata murmured, holding out her arms to the girl and enclosing her in an embrace. She looked up at Mala. “Who’s the new girl?”

Mala signed quickly, and Renata lifted one hand, signing back while still holding Brooke with her other arm.

“No,” Brooke said, clearly understanding the silent conversation. “She’s from Los Angeles. She was only visiting in Istanbul when Damien met her. She’s not Turkish.”

Renata said, “I was thinking Persian, actually. Welcome to Sarihöfn, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She lowered her staff and stepped forward. “Your name is Renata?”

“Yes.” Renata eyed Mala. “Are they done for today?”

Mala shrugged, then signed something that seemed to indicate Brooke could go, because Renata turned and started toward the door with the girl still curled under one arm.

“I’ll see you later, Ava.”

“Bye!” Brooke called.

Ava lifted her hand in a wave, then started toward the bench where she’d left her jacket, only to be stopped by a staff across the belly. Groaning, she lifted her eyes to Mala.

“Let me guess. I’m not done yet.”

The corner of Mala’s mouth lifted, and Ava didn’t need to understand signing to read her expression.

Not even close.

She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed by the time she finally made it back to the cottage. Mala had drilled her for another three hours after Renata had shown up and taken off with Brooke. Luckily, Ava was picking up some signs from Mala and communication was starting to get better. And so, despite her reservations, were her attacks. Mala was a patient teacher and seemed to understand instinctively where and how Ava was struggling. By the end of the session, she was parrying with a fair amount of success instead of simply fending off blows. And, if she’d read Mala’s signs correctly, the next week they were going to add daggers.

Ava liked daggers.

“Wash up,” Damien called from the kitchen. “I’m fixing tea and I’ll make you a snack.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Then we’re going to a sing. There will be a dinner before at the house.” He glanced at her. “I’ll get you an ice pack, too. Do you need two?”

“A sing? What’s a sing?” She tried to sort through the barrage of information. “And yes. I probably need two.”

“I’ll get three. There’s hot water for your shower, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be late.”

“What’s a sing, Damien?”

“It’s a ceremony. With singing.” Damien walked over and patted her head. “Hence, it’s called a sing.”

“You’re the only person I know who uses ‘hence’ in everyday conversation.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that you know me, then?” He waved toward the door, unusually chipper. “Go. I’ll get the tea going.”

“Why are you so happy?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, this ‘sing’ is going to be at the main house, isn’t it?
Sari’s
house?”

“Yes.” A smile teased up the corner of his lip.

“And it’s like a party?”

“It is.”

“And you’re invited?”

“I am.”

“Ahhhhh.” Ava was smiling.
 

“What?”

“Damien’s making progress,” she sang.

“That’s enough.” He shoved her shoulder. “Go clean up. I don’t want to be late.”

“Mr. Cranky is gonna get some,” she sang some more, then ducked in her room after the kitchen towel smacked the back of her head. Ava slammed the door and yelled, “Maybe you won’t be Mr. Cranky after tonight!”

“You are childish and you stink. Take a shower, Ava.”

She gathered her things and went to the small bathroom, still smiling. Ignoring the tug in her heart. Ignoring the quick twist of pain at the thought of her friend’s happiness. Damien was a good friend. A good man. He deserved his happiness, even if she’d lost her own.
 

“I will not abandon you. I will not leave you. Ever.”

But you did leave me.

Would her heart ever stop bleeding?
 

She heard Damien banging cupboards in the kitchen, no doubt looking for the tea, which he could never seem to find. Maybe he would go to this party tonight and Sari would talk to him without scorn in her voice. Maybe they would make up. She could hope. The world didn’t stop just because she’d lost Malachi.
 

With that thought, Ava stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away her tears.

Ava didn’t know quite what to expect from the party that night. She tried to imagine, but she kept coming up blank. Her lessons with Orsala had been minimal. The old woman had focused on teaching Ava the magic to block the soul voices from her mind. It was a simple spell, designed for a child to be able to master. Orsala had helped Ava create a door in her mind, and for the first time in her life, that door was slammed shut.

It had been a revelation. Salvation. At first, the voices stopped all together, but the door cracked open after an hour or so as voices tried to push through a familiar hall. The next time she spoke the words, the door stayed closed a little longer. Then a little longer. The first day that she heard little to no voices at all, Ava had shown up at Orsala’s door, almost weeping with relief.
 

Since then, the spell had become a mantra. The voices never disappeared entirely around other people—Orsala said they weren’t meant to—but a quick recitation of the words was enough to shut the door so the whispers were only murmurs that came from a great distance. Her tension headaches disappeared. Her agitation lessened. Now when Damien took her hand and squeezed it, she felt happy and content. There wasn’t the desperate relief she’d once needed just to get through the day.

And for that she was grateful. Because though the weeks with Malachi had been a profound blessing, Ava knew she would probably never take another mate. Orsala had told her she might eventually find another partner. It was more than acceptable for Irin and Irina who had lost a mate to find love again. But Ava had a hard time imagining settling for anything less than what she and Malachi had once had, even if it had been brief. It was more than love. He was her soul mate. She didn’t want another.

And if she looked forward to sleep a little more than normal, well, that was understandable. There was comfort in dreaming of him, even if the waking reality tore her heart.

“Are you sure this shirt is acceptable?” Damien tugged at a brown shirt that brought out the color of his dark eyes. Ava had suggested it instead of the dull black button-down he’d been about to put on. They were walking to the main house, and Damien was as nervous as a teenager on his first date.

“Yes. Stop fussing.”

“I feel like I should have shaved.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Will you stop? The beard looks good. She likes it. Trust me.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you seriously not pick up on the ‘I want to lick you’ looks that woman sends your way every time you’re in the room?”

“I…” Damien blinked rapidly. “No. Mostly I’m trying to not irritate her.”

“You need to irritate her more, not less.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Sari’s a busy girl, and she’s filed you away under ‘things I’ll deal with later.’ You need to make her deal with you
now
. I’d suggest pissing her off. Like you said, she hates you the same way she loves you. The love is there, Damien. You guys just have to sort out your shit.”

He halted, forcing Ava to stop next to him when he held on to her arm. “I tried to rush her once. I tried to push past her grief before she was ready. And it caused more harm than good. I don’t want to do that again. I can be patient for her.”

Her heart warmed at his words. “I know you can. But you shouldn’t waste time. Trust me. You never know how much time you’ll get.”

Damien frowned and squeezed her hand. “I am sorry you didn’t have more time with Malachi.”

“I don’t… want to talk about that right now.” She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to get through this party without crying.

“I understand.” He started back up the path and deliberately changed the subject. “Are you curious what the sing will be?”

“I’m trying to release my expectations, or something like that. Whatever happens, happens.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Nope. I’m getting my zen on.”

“Your ‘zen’?”
 

She could hear the smile in his voice even as they approached the house, which was lit up in every window, with more people spilling out in the garden. The fall air made their breath fog, and frost crunched under their feet. Soon, everyone told her, it would snow.

As they entered the house, calls came from every corner, and Ava pressed on the door Orsala had built with her, making sure it was shut. She closed her eyes, let the magic take root, and then she opened them. The women around her smiled in understanding. There were many she was beginning to recognize, but a lot of them still looked unfamiliar. There were also more Irin men than she’d seen before, standing in small groups or holding their mates. It was, quite obviously, a party. The smell of savory meat filled the air, and spices tempted her nose. Someone handed her a glass of what looked like cider, and she took a sip. It was delicious.

Damien nudged her shoulder. “Can I leave you with Astrid?”

Ava spotted her friend in the corner of the sitting room, waving. “Yep. Go find your woman and irritate her.”

“Wish me luck.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

He disappeared into the crowd as Astrid approached.

“Come,” her friend said. “Let’s get you some food. People eat quickly, then we head over to the barn for the singing.”

“What—” She caught herself before she could ask for explanations. “No, don’t tell me.”

Astrid smiled. “You don’t want to know what it is?”

“Nope. I want to just… experience. If you have no expectations, you can’t be disappointed with reality.”

“Fair enough.”

They made their way to the kitchen, where more people were gathered. Mostly women, but again, a few scribes. One man, whom Ava vaguely recognized, held an Irina on his lap. She squinted when she noticed that he had no
talesm
on his neck.

“Wait.” She tugged on Astrid’s arm. “Is he…?”

“Human?” She nodded. “Yes. Orsala is not pleased with the relationship, but then, Cam does what she wants.”

“But how do they… you know?”

Astrid frowned. “Didn’t you say you had lovers before Malachi? Irin can’t touch human women, but we don’t have the same problem. Most human men just can’t handle our energy or intensity for prolonged periods of time. Johan doesn’t have that problem, apparently.”

“But aging? Won’t she stay young as he gets old?”

“Yes.” Astrid shrugged. “It’s her choice, Ava. And his.”